Kirkwallop
by Enaid Aderyn
Summary: Random DA2 drabbles with no particular rhyme or reason. Rated M only because Hawke has a potty mouth.
1. Prologue  Genesis of a Title

_This will be a collection of random bits inspired by DA2 with no particular rhyme or reason. But first, a word of...well, not exactly explanation:_

_**o0o**_

_**1. Prologue - Genesis of a Title**_

_._

_Scene: The Writer is on the freeway, driving home from work in heavy commute traffic._

_The Writer: So I've got these unrelated germs of ideas for DA2 drabbles..._

_Higher Brain Function: You could make them into a collection._

_The Writer: Would that work?_

_Higher Brain Function: Why not? People with far more talent than you've got have been doing it and you enjoy their work._

_The Writer: True. Hmm, what should I name it?_

_Higher Brain Function: "A Ferelden in Kirkwall"_

_The Writer: Too Hawke-centric. _

_Higher Brain Function: "Kirkwall? Kirkwall!"_

_The Writer: Meh. Sounds like a musical travelogue._

_Higher Brain Function: "A Ferelden Champion in Viscount-"_

_The Writer: No._

_Higher Brain Function: See, it's like "A Connecticut Yankee-"_

_The Writer: What part of "no" was unclear to you?_

_Higher Brain Function: Umm...DA2..."DA-Too"..."DA-Tour"..."DA-Toot"_

_The Writer: No. No. And are you kidding?_

_Evil Muse: "Kirkwallop"_

_The Writer: ...pfffftt..._

_Higher Brain Function: What?_

_Evil Muse: "Kirkwallop"_

_The Writer: Bwahahahaha!_

_Higher Brain Function: WTF? _

_The Writer: "Kirkwallop"...snyerk...hahaha!_

_Higher Brain Function: Why on earth do you find that so amusing?_

_The Writer: [crying with laughter] I really haven't got a clue._

_Higher Brain Function: TRUCK!_

_The Writer: I see it, I see it!_

_Higher Brain Function: [to Evil Muse, accusingly] That was your fault!_

_Evil Muse: And so my work here is done._

_Higher Brain Function: You! Pay attention!_

_The Writer: Yes, fine._

_[A short silence ensues.]_

_Higher Brain Function: Don't forget to stop at the produce stand._

_Evil Muse: Pssst..."Kirkwallop"_

_The Writer: Bwahahaha!_

_Higher Brain Function: Oh, for... [figurative facepalm]_

_._

_**o0o**_

_The preceding has been a true and correct rendering of the thought process leading to this collection's title. No names were changed seeing as how no one involved is particularly innocent._

_Higher Brain Function: This had nothing to do with me!_

_We now return you to actual fanfiction. Thank you for your indulgence._


	2. Coping

_To each their own, fangirls and boys._

_**o0o**_

**2. Coping**

.

Millie Hawke picked idly through the vendor's merchandise and wondered when her ears would spontaneously begin spurting blood, and whether the unceasing fluting preaching behind her would break off when it happened.

"Blah blah blah Maker blah blah Chantry blah priest blah blah Maker..."

Of course it would be just her luck for a Templar to see and slay her for a blood mage-

"Maker forgives blah blah Maker knows blah blah.."

Then again a Sword of Mercy in the eye would be a relief about now.

"Blah blah Prince blah blah vows blah blah Chantry..."

Carefully avoiding eye contact with Sebastian, Millie glanced around at her posse. Aveline had moved on ahead for a word with one of her Guardsmen. Varric's head was bowed over his crossbow, diligently rubbing a smudge from Bianca's pristine finish. Merrill was examining some kind of weed growing from the tumbled down wall nearby. Isabela, currently the hapless recipient of the sermon and apparently having abandoned her usual mammary diversion tactics, was gently stroking the hilt of her dagger with a distracted air. Either the pirate was considering putting Sebastian out of their misery or she was reminiscing about her date from the night before.

"Chantry blah blah Maker blah blah..."

How was it possible for a voice to both flute _and_ drone?

"Hey, Merrill."

"Yes, Hawke?"

"Hand me a bit of brick, will you?"

"Like this?"

"That'll do."

"Maker blah blah pray for y-" _Clunk!_

_Thud._

"Nice shot, Hawke."

"I do my best," Millie shrugged, winked at Varric and moved on. Behind her, Isabela silently handed a sovereign over to the dwarf.

"Are we just leaving him there, then? Will he be all right?"

"Not to worry, Kitten. I have it on good authority that the Maker is his shield."

"Oh, I see."

"_Hawke, what the hell?"_

"_Aveline, I swear, it was self-defense! He was going for a pamphlet!"_


	3. Showdown

_**o0o**_

**3. Showdown**

.

_Run-run-run-I'm going to die-run-run-_

"Is that all you have?"

_Run-run-Shut up-run-health potion crap I'm out-run-run-run-_

Millie scrambled around the pillar, barely ahead of another sweep of the Arishok's blade.

_Tar bomb? Out. Incendiary? Ditto. Stun bag? Too close-Aargh! _

She ducked and the double length of steel imbedded itself inches deep into the marble over her head. She landed a few quick strikes before the massive Qunari wrenched his blade free along with a sizeable chunk of the masonry.

_Mommy?_

The Arishok paused to shake the rubble loose.

_Okay, need more space..._

Hawke dove forward, intending to roll under the giant's reach and come up behind for a backstab. Just as she launched herself, he shifted his stance and she slammed face first into hard skin and muscle. There was a sickening crunch in her nose, and as her feet skidded out from under her she frantically threw herself to the side, hearing the _clang _of the Arishok's blade chopping into the floor behind her.

Scrabbling ungracefully to her feet, Millie ran a few paces and turned, daggers at the ready.

_Hello?_

There was a surprising lack of Arishok nearby.

Blinking through the mask of nasal gore and sparkly lights in her vision, she made out the massive shape of her opponent standing in an oddly hunched position, sword hanging loosely in his grasp. He let it go with a clatter, uttered a faint mewling noise, and gradually folded over to the floor into a gigantic fetal curl.

"Hawke!"

"Hawke, buddy, you okay?"

Her posse was gathering around her in a babble of excitement and concern.

"Wait, whud...?" Mille's nose already felt like it had ballooned to the size of her head.

"Interesting tactic, sweet thing." Isabela seemed torn between admiration and laughter. "Typically one uses a knee or a foot, but why not go all out indeed?"

"I did a face plad idto his leg-"

"Is that what you're calling it?"

"-ad I thig I broke by dose."

Anders snorted. "Good call." He touched it gently. "I'll have to set it before I can heal it." Millie pushed his hand away.

"Waid, are you sayig I broke by dose od his jugk?"

"His what?" Isabela's eyes twinkled. Aveline had her palm over her face and was shaking her head in despair.

"Jugk! His ju- Adders, leave be alode - his backage, okay?"

"That would appear to be the case," Fenris said dryly.

"Holy crab."

"Hawke, you never cease to impress me," Varric said solemnly. "I now have an entirely new appreciation for the concept of the finishing blow."

"Will you hold still for one minute, Hawke?"

"Hey! Fidishig blow...thad beads I bead hib! Righd? Righd?"

"You certainly incapacitated him," said Fenris, eyeing the pitiful heap of Qun.

"Woo!" Millie leaped up, to Anders' exasperation, and began a war dance. "Yes! I wid! I wid! I ab the Chabiod! Woo-hoo!"

"Gracious in victory as ever." Aveline spoke from behind her palm.

"Hawke, get over here!"

"Id your FACE, Arishok!"

"Strictly speaking, it was the other way around, sweet thing."

"You know," Fenris mused, watching Millie glad-handing the crowd, "I may be able to get some payback for all those 'magical fisting attack' comments now."

Varric cocked an eyebrow at the elf. "You think so?"

"_Woo! Righd id the ol' Arishcock!"_

"Yes, well, probably not."

"_Ow! Dabbit, Adders!"_

"_I told you to hold still!"_


	4. Bar Chat

_**o0o**_

**4. Bar Chat**

.

"Well, now, Merrill, fancy finding you here at this time of day."

"Oh, Isabela, hello, I didn't notice...Oh! This is your spot! I'm sorry; I'm in your spot. Should I move? I should move, shouldn't I..."

"Relax, Kitten, I'm fine anywhere."

"Or so the rumour goes."

"Comedy, is it, Corff? Don't quit the bartending job. And speaking of which..."

"Whiskey."

"Clever man. And another for my friend – what are you having, Kitten?"

"Stout...well, sort of, though it's rather thin and it tastes a bit like mildew...but I don't...I'm not fin-"

"Here you go."

"-ished...Oh, well, thank you."

"Aah... Keep them coming, Corff."

"Yeah, yeah."

"So, Kitten, what's on your mind?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You were miles away when I came in, and you have this big unhappy furrow on your pretty little brow, right..._here_."

"Oh. It's nothing, I...no, it doesn't matter."

"Come on, sweet thing, tell Isabela."

"I...it's just...well, it's Anders. Oh, it's just me, I let him get under my skin and I shouldn't."

"Hm, and what's our favorite not-an-abomination been and done?"

"He was on one of his, well, one of his rants earlier today, and do you know what he said to me?"

"Do tell."

"He said, 'No wonder the demons found you such easy prey.' He said that. To me!"

"He's a fine one to talk."

"Yes, exactly! I mean I _know_ he's troubled, and I know he – well none of you agree with my kind of magic, and I _pity_ him deeply, really I do, but it can be so _frustrating_ and hurtful to be condescended to like that, especially when _I'm_ not the one who's been voluntarily possessed by an insane uncontrollable Fade spirit that's utterly indistinguishable from a demon the way it pops out all glowing blue and tries to kill innocent girls when we're there to rescue them!"

Pause.

"Feel better?"

"No, not really, I...well, maybe just a little bit."

"Corff, what part of 'keep them coming' didn't you get? Thanks...aah. Listen, Kitten, you've got a perfectly good point and I don't blame you a bit for getting upset. Unfortunately, I don't see any chance of him changing."

"Oh, I know..."

"Ah, don't look so miserable, sweet thing. Just try to bear in mind old Abominanders is living up his own glowing blue ass and come blow off steam with me whenever you need it."

"_Mah serannas_, Isabela. You're a good friend, I...wait, '_Abominanders_'? That's..._pfft_...oh, I mustn't laugh...that's unkind..."

"But accurate."

Pause.

"I can see you trying not to smirk, there, Kitten."

"..._pfft_...Abominashem..._snerk_..."

"That's my girl."


	5. Persuasion

_**o0o**_

**5. Persuasion**

.

"You know, Sebastian, you might want to think about changing your hairstyle."

"I'm sorry?"

"Wearing it all slicked back like that? It highlights the receding hairline something fierce."

"Ah, Hawke, you and your quirky sense of humor. I have a noble's point, as we call it in Starkhaven."

"Ye-es, well, regardless of how the Darkraven mother tongue would have it, a more natural look would do wonders to disguise the fact that you're going point."

"I am _not_ going... err-hem."

"What the hell does that nun have on her head? A crown? Why's a nun wearing a crown...?"

"You know, far be it for me to contradict a lovely lady such as yourself, but my city is called 'Starkhaven', not 'Darkraven,' charming though the name is."

"She looks like she got tangled up in a light fixture...Oh, hey yeah, now you bring it up that reminds me: I've been thinking about your situation."

"Hawke, I'm touched, truly."

"Here you are, the rightful prince of Starkraving-"

"Starkhaven."

"-and you're hanging around in the Kirkwall Chantry after the part of your family that actually cared about ruling all got taken out."

"Murrduhrred, yes. That's why I took the offensive."

"Oh, well, and here I thought my posse and I were the ones who wiped out your enemies in answer to the help-wanted notice you pinned up because you didn't want to 'make yourself a target.' Must be that Storklegging dialect confusing the issue again."

"I'm sorry, I meant no insult..."

"Eh, no offense taken...heh, get it? 'No offense taken'?"

"Yes...and, please, it's 'Starkhaven.'"

"So you said your family has ruled Breakeven for six generations, and Brother Genitivi's _In Pursuit of Knowledge_ talks about how grand and wealthy the place is, and the Evil Masterminds of the overthrow have all been removed by Yours Truly, so I'd just like to inquire what the hell are you still doing here?"

"I'm no longer certain if my place truly belongs in _Starkhaven_ anymore."

"Setting aside a certain commitment made to justify inadequate recompense for hazardous work, and I quote, 'When I have secured my lands again, you will be paid royally,' what's with the change in heart? Do you see yourself as a prince of Stockracing or a priest?"

"_Starkhaven_. That's exactly what I've been praying for guidance about."

"Me and my big mouth..."

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. But when I think of going to Stork_-_ wait, no, _Starkhaven_...calling on allies like Flora Harimann and all the corrupt, scheming nobles...my throat swells shut in horror."

"...Really?"

"When I think about staying, I'm at peace. It was wrong for me to break my oath to the Chantry. I've turned my face away from the Maker-"

"Let's think about the scheming nobles some more, shall we? Come on, after all this effort, you mustn't just abandon Stickfigure-"

"_Starkhaven._"

"You've got a duty as the Prince of Cookoven you keep mentioning you are. What about your duty to the populace? Don't the people of Lardmuffin deserve their rightful ruler?"

"That's _Starkhaven!_ They can wait. I'm sure it matters little to the people who rules over them-"

"Right! So we agree it should be you."

"That wasn't what I - why would I want to deal with jackals like Harimann?"

"Well, duh. Power and money? Prince of Starknaked, hello?"

"Stark-_haven!_"

"When you're the Prince of Backshaven all those jackals will have to kneel at your feet. And pay you taxes..."

"_Stark! Haven!"_

"You know, the different hairstyle would cover up that throbby-vein thing you've got going on in your forehead, too. I'm just saying."


	6. Peaches & Cream

_The time: Irresponsibly late on a work night. The place: Cheeky Monkeys forum. The challenge: Take a character from your current story and make them act in a way c__ompletely contrary to their personality or beliefs._

_Gauntlet...Er...hand...paw...thingie...accepted!_

_**o0o**_

**6. Peaches & Cream**

.

The posse erupted into agitated whispers.

"What is going on?"

"Have you ever seen her like this?"

"Never."

"Not here, not in Ferelden, not ever."

"It must be a spell of some kind."

"Yes, what have you mages done to her?"

"Nothing!"

"I promise-"

"Here we are!"

The conference abruptly shut off, and five pairs of eyes fixed owlishly on Millie as she returned to the table with a tray full of drinks.

"That's a very...different...outfit you're wearing, Hawke," Merrill spoke hesitantly. Millie beamed.

"Thank you!" She held the tray up to look down at herself. "You don't think it's too much?"

"Er."

From the satin ribbon in her hair to the tips of her dainty slippers, Hawke was the image of girlish frivolity painted in pastel colors. What she lacked in cleavage was compensated by cascades of ruffles spilling exuberantly down her waist and circling the knee-length skirt which strained over what appeared to be a good half-dozen crinoline petticoats.

"Sometimes a girl just wants to feel pretty," Millie said happily and brought the tray back down. "These are on me, now. Oh, and I went ahead and paid off everyone's tab as long as I was up there." As one, the group leaned away fearfully as she bent over to distribute the drinks, eyeing her helplessly with the fascinated stare of sheep huddling before a border collie.

"You paid off my tab?" Isabela said in a faint voice.

"Yes indeed."

"_All_ of it?"

"Now, it wouldn't be 'paid off' if I hadn't paid it all, would it?" Millie wagged a playful finger as she sat down and the pirate very nearly went for her daggers. "You silly old thing." Isabela seized her glass and downed the contents.

The others followed her example.

With a look around the table, Aveline pushed her chair back, muttering about going on patrol.

"Aveline, wait a moment." The Guard Captain paused warily.

"Yes, Hawke?"

Millie looked her in the eye and covered Aveline's hand with her own. "I know I don't say it nearly enough, but I hope you know how much I appreciate everything you do for me, for us, for the whole city." Her voice throbbed with sincerity. "You keep us all safe, you and your guards; you're the best thing that could have ever happened to Kirkwall. Just be safe, I beg you."

Speechless, Aveline opened and closed her mouth several times, then stood and headed for the door in a daze. Millie smiled sweetly at the group who looked back with white-rimmed eyes.

"Hawke, I-" Anders began hesitantly. There was a distant clang as Aveline walked into the doorjamb. "Are you...that is, I think..."

He trailed off nervously as Millie looked at him attentively.

"What? Why are you staring at me?"

"Hm? I'm just listening to you." She tilted her head curiously and he flinched. "Is something wrong?"

"No! I...You're actually paying attention when I'm talking?"

"I am."

"Listening to what I'm saying?"

"Of course."

"To me?"

"Yes, silly."

"But, that's...you never...I...oh...no..." The mage covered his face as eldritch blue energies crawled across his skin.

"Anders?"

He slammed his palms on the table as his eyes flared into lambent cobalt.

"**THIS IS NOT TO BE BORNE! CEASE YOUR TORMENTS, WOMAN!"**

"Justice! I'm so happy you're here!"

"**I WILL DESTR-WAIT, WHAT?"**

"I was reading through your and Anders' manifesto last night and I simply have to say how impressed I am with the collaboration."

"**YOU WHAT?"**

"I'd love to take some time and discuss it with you. Continuing education is always so very important to help keep one's mind active, don't you agree?" She clasped her hands under her chin and looked at him expectantly.

"**YOU...ER...YES, OF COURSE...ER...EDUCATION, VERY IMPORTANT. VERY...ERM...oh look left something on the hypothalamus sorry **_**mustbegoing**__ohnonodon'tyoudarebuggeroff and leave me _alone with...her..." Anders blinked his decidedly glow-less eyes and ventured a sickly smile at Millie's disappointed look.

"Oh, what a shame. He's always so interesting to listen to."

A faint whimper escaped the mage. Isabela, finding her own glass empty, took a slug from Hawke's and sprayed the mouthful across the room.

"What the...!" She coughed as Millie obligingly patted her between the shoulders. "Is that _mineral water_?"

"Why, yes," Millie chirped. "I have such a long walk home, and it's so dark and what with bandits and assassins it would be so _unwise_ to lose one's edge from alcohol, don't you think?"

Merrill burst into tears and buried her face on Isabela's shoulder.

"Oh, you poor dear thing." Millie held out a handkerchief – no, dear Maker, a _clean_ handkerchief – and the pirate accepted it in glassy-eyed horror. "Well, if you'll all excuse me, I need to go powder my nose."

She stood, turned and skipped away.

"No... _No!_" Fenris recoiled, knocking over his chair and retreating until his back hit the wall, lyrium markings writhing, his terrified gaze locked on the perky pink rosette affixed to the back of Hawke's sash.

Outside, Millie hummed a little tune and stretched, looking at the crescent moon.

"Hawke."

"Varric! How's my bestest dwarf buddy?"

He moved out of the shadows and joined her. "If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes..."

"Aw, you're so _cute_!" She paused, digging her fingers into layers of fabric. "Maferath's blue balls, this stuff _itches_. How the hell anyone in their right mind can stand to wear this crap..."

"Words fail me, and that's an occasion, believe me. When you said you could reduce them to a quivering puddle, here I assumed you meant to use more, hm, provocative techniques."

Millie snorted.

"With Isabela? Fat chance: she'd just join in."

"I know." Varric rubbed his neck ruefully. "Why do you think I took the bet?"

"For a chance to see me all ladylike?" She had hiked the skirts above her waist and was scratching vigorously.

"Yes, that must be it."

"Double or nothing?"

"What's the offer?"

"I go see Sebastian like this and see how quickly I can make his head explode."

"Tempting..."


	7. Chantry & Dreams

_My word. The ending to 'Peaches & Cream' was simply intended to be a punch line, but judging by responses Evil Muse is in fine company. I herewith bow to popular demand and Dasque's offer of bonus points. __And by the way, I've tried to answer everyone's comments as of this update, but a few of you either have your PM turned off or, what is far more likely, FFnet is playing silly buggers yet again. So for the record: thank you, you're all awesome!_

_**o0o**_

**7. Chantry & Dreams**

.

Sebastian made his way through the dimly lit corridor, peaceful in the small hours hush.

"_...-astia-..." _A tickle at the edge of hearing, sweetly delicate...

Had someone said his name? He paused, listening.

No, nothing. Nothing of this world, at any rate. With a reverent shiver he entered the nave and stumbled to a halt.

Dozens - no, _hundreds_ of candles were clustered in the apse, their flames burning with the clear resolution of the faithful. And rising before them, turning to face him...

A Vision. Andraste Herself. He fell to his knees in awestruck rapture.

She was wreathed in a fluttering, curling mist tinted with the colors of a gentle dawn, all rose and white and gold, hinting without vulgar display at the Beauty which had so enchanted the Maker. Backlit by the gleaming candlelight, Her face was cast in a deep shadow that a mere mortal's eyes could never penetrate. She raised Her hands in benediction, then touched Her fingertips to Her lips and...

...blew him a kiss...

Blood thundered in his head, and he felt the hot wetness spill over his lips. As his sight dimmed, it seemed he could detect hints of the smoke from the Blessed Martyr's pyre...

_.oOo._

The two Sisters companionably went about their morning duties.

"...so there Sister Lydia was, setting out the linens, and she nearly _fainted_ when poor Brother Sebastian came reeling into the room, white as a sheet and _drenched_ in blood. She said it was the _worst_ nosebleed she'd seen in _all_ her days, and that's saying something, her growing up with twelve brothers and all." Sister Amaryllis paused to take a breath and tipped the candle wax she'd scraped off the carpet into the bucket the elderly Sister Betty held ready.

"Of course he was far too _reticent_ to say what had happened to him," she continued.

"Hehhehheh, a strapping young man gets a spontaneous nosebleed? You don't have to tell me twice what caused _that!_ Hehhehheh."

"Oh, Sister Betty, you're _dreadful!_ No, you just _know_ he must have been set upon by those nasty bandits that simply _litter_ the streets these days and fought them off single handedly and he's just _far_ too modest to tell tales about it."

"He is a good boy, that one."

"Dear, your crown has gone crooked a bit."

"Oh, my."

_.oOo._

"_Once again, Hawke, you never fail to impress."_

"_It did go well, didn't it? He went down even faster than I expected. Thankfully..."_

"_I'm not so sure we shouldn't have stopped to check on him."_

"_Meh, he's fine. I heard him grunt when we went past."_

"_People tend to do that when someone runs over their unconscious body."_

"_Hey, he was blocking the door! Who knew crinoline was so flammable?"_


	8. Clinical

_Oh. My. Gosh. 100 reviews - BilleaTheTurtle, thank you!. Thank you ALL so much for your continuing interest from the bottom of my evil little heart. ^_^_

**o0o**

**8. Clinical**

.

"Hawke, if you drum your fingers any harder you'll drill four holes through that wall."

Millie stopped and with a put-upon sigh began picking at the ancient plaster now wedged under her nails.

"I'm about done waiting for him to show up."

"Perhaps he was held up in the clinic," Merrill suggested. "Or he might be ill himself, you know. After we got caught in that cloudburst on the coast the other night he was soaked to the skin and sneezing by the time we returned. Why is so much of his outerwear made of feathers do you think? They really aren't particularly water-repellant. Unless it's a duck. Or a goose. Or, you know, not dead..."

_Hwrrsshh….poff…hwrrsshh...pofff…_

Hollow, stertorous breathing echoed ominously in the Darktown passage and the three snapped into a defensive position, weapons at the ready. From the shadows a wraithlike figure shuffled, draped in a ragged shroud and dragging a hand along the wall.

_Hwrrsshh...poff...hwrrssck! Hak-kaf-kaf...poff..._

Weapons sagged at sight of the familiar bedraggled tartan.

"Anders?"

"**NO." **

"_Justice?"_

"**KAF-SNRGH. YES."** He let the shroud – no, the shawl which probably would have been better left in its former capacity as a tablecloth – slip from his head and stood drooping listlessly, clutching it about his shoulders. Even his customary eldritch cobalt glow seemed dim.

"Oh, dear, I was afraid he might be getting ill."

"Justice, what in Andraste's tiny tits are you doing?"

"**ANDERS WAS TOO WEAK-WILLED TO OVERCOME HIS PHYSICAL LIMITATIONS. HE INTENDED TO RENEGE UPON HIS COMMITMENT TO ASSIST YOU. SNRGH."**

"Well, that's-"

"**THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN AN INJUSTICE. SNRGH-KOFF. THEREFORE I ASSUMED DIRECT CONTROL WHEN HE FELL ASLEEP. AREN'T YOU COLD? IS IT COLD IN HERE?" **

Merrill leaned forward, fascinated.

"Oh, see there, even the runny crust around his eyes is glowing. How interesting! It looks like those growths you see on the walls in deep caverns. Do you think it would keep glowing if it weren't on his face?" She actually reached toward him and Varric intercepted her hand with a shudder.

"Daisy, no. Just, no." And now he had images of glow-in-the-dark snot in his mind, thank you so very much.

Justice's withering glare was less than effective through the veil of rheum and he gave up after a few unfocused attempts.

"**IT **_**IS**_** COLD IN HERE. LET US DEPART AND SEE JUSTICE DONE! SNRGH."**

"I'd say Anders had the right idea." Arms folded, Millie eyed the wretched figure critically. "You don't look to be in any shape to offer much of a threat beyond 'I am Justice! Fear my demonic Loogies of Vengeance!' Don't get me wrong – _I'd_ run like hell – but it's not exactly the image we want to cultiv-"

"**I AM NO DEMON! I AM NOT AN ABOMINARRGH-HAK-KAF-KAF-AWHAAURGHL-PTUI- [splat] – kafkaf-guh…"**

Silence.

"Okay, even you have to admit that was pretty abominable."

"**YES…WELL…PERHAPS WE SHOULD…A BIT OF A LIE-DOWN MIGHT BE…"**

"Justified?" Prompted by Varric's hasty backhand, Millie rearranged her smirk into an expression of exaggerated concern. Oblivious to the exchange, the spirit blew his nose thoughtfully into a corner of Anders' shawl.

"**PERHAPS SOME TEA…"**

"I always think spearmint is lovely when I'm feeling poorly," Merrill offered solicitously.

"**REALLY? I WOULD HAVE THOUGHT CHAMMOMILLE."**

"Or a nice rooibus."

"**HMM…I WONDER IF THERE IS ANY OVALTINE?"**

"Now _I'm_ feeling sick," muttered Varric.

.

* * *

><p><em>Inspired by an exchange with midnight vinyls that started at Darth Vader in the Death Star cafeteria and found its way to Justice feeling sickly (idek, people). Thanks for the idea, mv! I felt it only fair to share the visual…<em>

_And Ovaltine keeps turning up. Like ants, only less appetizing._


	9. Grand Gesture

**o0o**

**9. Grand Gesture**

.

Hawke conferred with a pair of ragged Darktown lurkers and Aveline took the opportunity to massage her temples.

"Headache?" Varric gave her a sympathetic look. "Too much partying after duty, eh?" The Guardswoman snorted and dropped her hands.

"I only wish. It'll pass soon enough, I expect."

"Did someone mention a party?" Millie rejoined them, looking mildly irritated. "Nice idea, considering that whole 'look for the lit lantern' idiocy. I expect it's too much to hope this healer, whatsisname, Anders, would be the type though, seeing as how people generally hang their decorations where they can actually be seen. Do you realize all we had to do was turn left from the bottom of the lift? Come on, let's go."

Two bandit attacks, six failed pick-pocket attempts and a case of screaming DT's later, they entered a large grubby room in time to witness the mage working a mighty healing upon an injured child.

"Okay, that looks handy," Millie murmured to the others as the parents ushered the boy away and the mage sagged wearily. Before they could approach more than a few paces, the man spun to face them, striking a slightly crouched pose with his staff held out to one side and his arm extended toward them.

"I have _made_ this place a _sanctum_ of healing…and _salvation_!" He announced melodramatically. "_Why_ do you threaten it?"

All it needed was a cape swirling in a stiff wind to complete the picture.

"Threaten?" Aveline couldn't decide whether to be amused or offended.

"Sanctum?" Varric carefully redirected a cockroach the size of a mabari puppy with the side of his boot and shuddered.

"Waywuhwait, I got this!"

Millie pranced forward with a quick step-ball change-lunge and finished nose to nose with the crouching healer, holding her hands out to the sides with palms forward and fingers splayed out.

"I have _planned_ an expedition to the _Deep Roads_! Do _you_ have maps so _we_ won't _lose_ our sorry _asses_?"

Anders blinked, nonplussed. Millie straightened up, and then repeated the maneuver.

"Hotcha!"

_Smack!_

"Say, Aveline…"

"Varric, not a word." Aveline spoke from behind her palm.

"I may have an idea where those headaches are coming from."

"I said, 'shut up,' Tethras."


	10. Indecision

_Time out for a quick squee: for those of you who follow my piece 'Mabari & Magus,' Tyanilth did me the honor of granting a certain undersized Amell and his Mabari a cameo appearance in Chapter 32 of 'The Hourglass,' which is one of the best LoghainxF!Cousland tales out there. Really, I can't recommend Tyanilth's writing highly enough - if you aren't familiar with it you're missing something special. And by the way, Blossom is evidently equally badly behaved in whatever universe he finds himself. :D Now, back to Kirkwall..._

**o0o**

**10. Indecision**

.

"You _still_ can't make up your mind?"

"Hawke, it is not such an easy decision."

"Honestly, Sebastian, what's the big deal? Just ask yourself what you really _want._"

"Do you think I have not been doing exactly that?"

"And while you stand here moaning the whole world piles up around you."

"I'm like any man; I long for the taste of blood with a warrior's hunger..."

"Well, good then-"

"Yet can that truly satisfy on the deepest level? I fear I must always be yearning for something more, something fulfilling that will leave me cleansed through and through. Not weighed down, but light-"

"Oh, Andraste's burning butt! Hey, you! We'll take half a dozen beef skewers, four dumplings, a couple baked apples and a side of coleslaw for Princess Vaelcillate here. And if that thing on your crotch wants something it's coming out of your share."

"Does it come with one of those paper crowns?"

Deadpan stare.

"What? It's for Sister Betty - the one she has is getting creased."


	11. By Any Other Name

_**o0o**_

**11. By Any Other Name**

.

"All right, Hawke, I've got to ask."

"And don't you always?" Millie said absently as she considered the bottles arrayed in the cabinet.

"What can I say?" Varric settled Bianca in the chair Bodahn had thoughtfully provided and with a loving pat to the crossbow's gleaming wood took his own seat by the fire, leaning back into the soft leather with a contented sigh. "As a writer I have an insatiable drive for understanding and interpreting the world around me."

"Translation: you're nosy."

"That too."

Millie made her selection and rejoined him, seizing a pair of tumblers from the sideboard along the way. "Here, this is great stuff – it's from one of those caches on the Wounded Coast. Have you ever noticed how smugglers invariably have the highest quality liquor stashed away in the loot? I mean, isn't the point to smuggle it _to_ someplace? How do they ever turn a profit?" Producing a knife from some inappropriately-placed hidden sheath she deftly began removing the bottle's seal.

"One of life's great mysteries." Varric nodded solemnly. "But to return to my question, what happened at dinner?"

"Hm?"

"When I was making conversation with your mother, I asked if she had named you after someone in the family and if 'Millie' was short for a longer name. I think the temperature must have dropped thirty degrees." Millie laughed.

"You noticed that, did you?"

"It was hard not to – I very nearly got frostbite."

"Yep, she's good at that. Cone of Cold spells have nothing on her when she's in a mood. It's no wonder the Amell bloodline produces so many mages."

"But what was the problem? And she never did answer the question." Varric looked at her expectantly.

"It's a bit of a sore point for her," Millie said demurely. The dwarf just waited, and she grinned. "Okay, hang on, I'll be right back." She set the whiskey down with a thump and darted out of the study to thunder upstairs.

Varric leaned forward and filled both their glasses as he listened to the muffled bumps and bangs from above. Sipping, he raised an appreciative eyebrow at the smoky liquor and tilted the bottle toward the firelight to examine the label.

"Here we go." Millie returned with a battered piece of parchment and flung herself into her armchair, scooping up her drink in the same motion. "Cheers. Good, right? Didn't I say this was quality?" She took a moment to savor a mouthful. "I'd say we were in the wrong business, but seeing as how I'm the one who ended up drinking this for free that would be disingenuous."

Turning sideways in the chair, she settled herself comfortably and continued, idly flapping the parchment.

"So you know all about Da being an apostate and what _that_ all entails, but at the same time Ma being ex-nobility she's a stickler for documentation – keeping her options open _I_ think. I mean, what part of being on the run includes writing letters to the very people you ran away from? Anyway, when Ma went into labor with me they were in some tiny rural community where the goats probably had a seat on the village council, and the mayor was also the bailiff, registrar, undertaker – pretty much every civic position rolled into one. Personally, I think Ma should just count her blessings that the old coot wasn't also the midwife, but that's me."

She took another sip of whiskey.

"So just a few days after I'm born, Da gets wind of some apostate hunters in the area, and they grab me and stuff the birth certificate Ma insisted on having in with all the rest of their junk and leg it on out of there. It wasn't until about four months later they actually had a real look at it." Handing the paper over to Varric's eager grasp, she added, "Evidently the old fart had a lot of paperwork on his desk at the time and got a little confused."

Varric stared at the faded lettering.

"You're kidding."

"Nope."

"_Malfeasance?"_

"Yep."

"Your legal name is _Malfeasance_?"

"Yep!" Millie was grinning like a delighted shark. "It was supposed to be something like Mildred or Malvinia after one of Ma's great-aunts – sucking up just in case, you see. Da told me he couldn't stop laughing for two days, and that Ma wouldn't speak to him for two weeks, but that it was totally worth it."

Varric fanned himself thoughtfully with the parchment before returning it.

"Tell me, Hawke. Apart from the magic, I'm guessing you take after your father."

"Oh, yes."

"Yes." He sipped his whiskey contemplatively. "Yes, that explains a great deal."


	12. A Fine Mess

_**o0o**_

**12. A Fine Mess**

.

_**KAA-BOOOM!**_

"Holy crap…" Millie reeled back with her posse, shielding her head from flying debris. "So to speak . . . _that's_ why Anders was collecting piss-crusts? What are people _eating_ around here?"

Sebastian fell to his knees with a clank and wailed.

"Maker! Nooo!" Down at the docks, stray dogs pricked their ears and howled an enthusiastic response.

"Now I'm regretting the extra spicy beef last night. . . Right, folks, campfire. Our pet abominamage has created a Situation. Opinions?"

"What!" Sebastian's eyes bulged. "I can't believe you're considering letting him live! Why are you waffling?"

"Okay, first: _you_ accusing _me_ of waffling is ironic to the point of being surreal. Second: mm, waffles. . ."

"How would you feel if it had been _Me_ in there?"

"Um. . . Bad?" Millie blinked. "Hang on a second." Keeping a wary eye on the sometime prince in case he started foaming at the mouth and licking himself, she leaned over to Varric and muttered from the corner of her mouth. "Have I _ever_ given this guy _any_ reason to think I'd care in particular?"

"You avenged the murder of his family?" Varric was equally nonplussed.

"In answer to his help-wanted ad – and he still hasn't finished paying me, so yeah, _that_ I'd regret."

"You gave him that fancy bow."

"Only to carry until we found the next merchant to unload it. How was I to know he'd get all squishy over it? I sent him a bill. Which, surprise surprise, he never paid."

"Hmm. Well, you do talk to him."

"I talk to everyb- _Hey! Where do you think you're going? I'm not finished with you yet! Sit your ass back down on that box! Splinters? And whose fault is that? Don't make me come over there! I've got my eye on you, Blue Boy! _Seriously, do you think Prince Stuckhosen is that self. . . never mind I answered my own-"

"That's _Starkhaven!_"

"Nothing wrong with his hearing, though."

"Maker! Noo! Elthina! Noooo!"

_Owoooooo . . ._

"Blessed-be-the-souls-of-the-faithful-that-they-ascend-to-Your-right-hand-"

"Oh, for. . . Hey, Merrill."

"Yes, Hawke?"

"Hand me a bit of Chantry, will you?"

"Like this?"

"That'll do."

"You-have-brought-Sin-to-Heaven-and-doom-upon-all-the-wor-" _Clunk!_


	13. The Elephant in the Room

_Evil Muse has been a couch potato of late. This is my attempt at Suilven's 10-Minute Challenge on Cheeky Monkeys. _

_**o0o**_

**13. The Elephant in the Room**

.

Corff looked up and hustled over as Hawke, Fenris and Varric seated themselves at the bar.

"What'll it be? Whiskey?" At three simultaneous nods - huh, the elf generally opted for wine - he lined up the shots. "Just came from the Qunari compound, have you? Word has it you went to meet the boss-ox himself."

He poured, oblivious to the lack of response.

"I hear that Arishok sits up on a dais when he deigns to give an audience, that right? Taking his ease at eye-level like some kind of tin-pot lordling, eh?"

His customers silently watched the liquor splash into their cups.

"Enjoy." Three hands shot out and seized his wrist as he began to turn away. "Erm . . . I'll, ah, I'll just leave the bottle, then, shall I?" Released, Corff carefully set the bottle down and edged off to serve another patron.

Avoiding each other's eyes, they lifted their cups, downed the contents as one and passed the bottle for a refill.

Lift. Drink. Pour.

"Well." Millie kept her gaze on her cup and twisted it a quarter-turn.

"Yes." Varric shifted on his stool.

"Hm." Fenris scratched a fleck of dirt from the whiskey label.

Pause.

"So. The Arishok. . ."

"Yes."

"Hm."

Pause.

"I think," Millie addressed the scarred surface of the bar, "I may owe Ma an apology. All those times she told me to keep my knees together when I sit . . ."

"Yes."

"Hm."

Lift. Drink. Pour.


	14. On the Merit of Self Control

_**o0o**_

**14. On the Merit of Self-Control**

.

"Hey, Anders."

"Yes, Hawke?"

"Why don't you turn inside out?"

"I . . .what? Is that a request? Or do I even want to kn-"

"You let that thing doss down in your head, right?"

"Justice is a Fade Spirit, but yes. What's that got-"

"By my count we've come across seventeen assorted blood mages and/or abominations in the last four days-"

"Hawke, don't go there-"

"-and the instant they get _their_ panties in a bunch so that _their_ personal demons go all 'Bloowahaha!' they invariably turn inside out. And get taller, for some reason. Who knew skin keeps you short?"

"Justice is not a de-"

"Well, except for that one guy, but Merrill's utterly awesome Walking Bomb spell pretty much took care of it for him."

"Speaking of, if you want to talk blood ma-"

"So, yeah, he was a little less self-contained and a lot more like wet landscaping. But considering how the _other_ sixteen demons that got off the mark all went 'flurp-boom,' what makes yours different?"

"He's a _spirit._ It's not the sa-"

"All he does is glow blue and sparkle. Who takes a sparkly monster seriously, anyway?"

"It's not the same thing . . . it's not . . . argh . . . noo . . . **I ****AM ****NOT ****A ****MON-**"

_Thwap!_

Blink.

"You hit me."

"Yes."

"You hit me with a rolled up pamphlet."

"Yes. Yes, I did."

"On the nose . . ."

"If you're going to have a demon - spirit - spemon, whatever, you have to learn not to go blue in the house."

**"I AM NO DEM-"**

_Thwap!_

**"THIS IS AN INJUS-"**

_Thwap!_

**"I-"**

_Thwap!_

"Don't make me squirt you with water. Because I will."

Pause.

". . . um . . . okay?"

"Good. So, returning to the subject at hand- _Demon!_"

Silence.

"Atta boy. Here, have a cookie."

"Oo, shortbread!"

.

* * *

><p><em>Many thanks to the ridiculously awesome Shakespira for coining the term "spemon" and thereby egging me on.<em>


	15. In Domina Petrice

_This is totally Shakespira's fault. No, really. Honest. Well, pretty much._

_**o0o**_

**15. In Domina Petrice**

.

The prissy-faced Sister drew herself up, her immaculate appearance absurdly out of place in the Lowtown hovel.

"I thank you for coming. This matter is delicate, and I need someone of . . . limited notoriety who will not link this to me."

"Hm?" Millie was eyeing the aggressive templar's peculiar hunched stance critically. "You know, arrowroot powder should help if your cod's chafing all that badly," she told him.

"My name is Sister Petrice," the woman said, raising her voice slightly. "I have assumed a burden of charity. It is an escort, but I think you will agree the nature of the party makes this . . . unique."

"Or try bathing a little more often-"

"This is my charge." The Sister snapped her fingers and a hulking Qunari, draped in chains, entered from the bedroom to stand staring indifferently into space.

"Maker," someone in the posse muttered.

"Would even a templar bind a mage like this?" Sister Petrice indicated the cut horns, the sewn-shut lips, the massive collar and manacles with a self-righteous air.

"-because, seriously, 'helmet hair' doesn't begin to- " Millie finally looked around and did a double-take. "Oh. Oohh . . . Hey, whoa, thanks, but no thanks."

"You will be paid for your efforts, I assure you."

"Yeah, no, sorry, I think I speak for all of us when I say we don't swing that way."

"You don't-"

"Though now I get why you were trolling for an 'escort' at midnight on the docks."

"What are you impl-"

With a faint clink the Qunari focused on Millie.

"I mean, wow, you can't even take your 'party' to the good folks at the Rose. That's heavy-duty stuff."

"I wasn't . . . I . . . but . . ."

The Qunari glanced at Sister Petrice and back at Millie in a first display of animation.

" . . . rrrgh . . ."

"Not that I'm judging, mind you. Whatever melts your butter, you crazy kids."

"Rrrghnngle."

"Hey, have you asked that Stinknavel guy there in the Chantry? Look at the way _he_ dresses."

"Grrghnngle!"

"So, anyway, have fun, mind your heads, don't scare the horses . . ." Millie began ushering her relieved posse toward the door as Sister Petrice turned a distinctly speculative gaze upon her charge.

_"Nnnrrgh!"_


	16. Shake Canned Awe

_**o0o**_

**16. Shake Canned Awe**

.

_clinkink . . ._

"Hawke, may I ask what you have there?"

"What, this? Here, see?"

"It is a tin with . . . something metallic inside." _Tinkink. _"Coins?"

"Yep, just a couple and a few other scraps."

_"Look at that. Look at them!"_

_"Blondie, don't get your ponytail in more of a knot than it is."_

"I fail to understand - is it a toy?"

_"Hey! You! I want a word with you!"_

_"Oh, shit."_

"Not exactly. Well, I suppose it depends on your point of-"

"Hawke! Broody! He's going. Blondie's heading for the Templars again."

"I got it."

_KACHANKCLANKANK!_

_"Eeyaahh!"_

"Wow."

"You missed."

"I wasn't aiming at his head, Fenris."

"Pity."

"What is that, twelve feet up?"

"Closer to fifteen, I'd say."

"I admit, I am impressed."

_"Someone get me down from here!"_

"I didn't think it was possible for a human to jump that high."

"Except he is not a human. He is an abomination."

"Broody. . ."

_"Hello?"_

"Well, Varric, he's got a point. Behold the Standing High Jump of Justice!"

_"Seriously, this statue's arm is bending."_

'Hm, that has a certain ring to it."

"Feel free to use it in your next story."

_"Guys?"_

"Maybe leaving a glowing blue trail behind him. . ."

"Oo! With sparkles?"

"No sparkles. Ever."

"Right, right."

_Creeeeaaaak._

_"Gaaaah!"_

_CRASH._

"Woops."

"Hey, I always wondered what those things' faces look like . . ."

"Come on, we'd better go make sure he's okay."

"Must we?"

"He might have broken something, Broody."

"Well, we can safely say that statue's never going to be the same again."


	17. Incentive

_**o0o**_

**17. Incentive**

.

"I don't get it." Millie extended the basket of steamed cockles to Varric before picking another morsel for herself. Hitching her bottom onto a pylon, she chewed thoughtfully under the watchful eye of an opportunistic gull.

"I mean, how can she stay upright like that, let alone walk?"

"You're asking me? Try looking at her from _my_ line of sight."

"Heh. No thanks." She poked around in the basket.

"You're going to touch every single one of those, aren't you?"

"Probably." Millie grinned. "It looks like a couple of pigs fighting under a blanket."

"Fighting or something."

"Or something."

"Though I'd have said nugs."

"Nah." She flicked an empty shell for the gull to seize and sucked juice and vinegar from her fingers. "Pigs are rounder." Behind her the gull dropped the shell with a sardonic _yarp_, triggering a series of disappointed tussles amongst its fellows from which a grebe eventually fled, for reasons best known to itself clutching the inedible bit as though rescuing the Ashes of Andraste.

Varric passed her the beer. "Well, we're definitely talking curves, no doubt about that."

"_Shushishish!_ She's heading this way - act casual."

"Shit. Don't make eye contact."

"Ah, wait, she's gotten sidetracked..."

_"Good day to you, my child. Would you like to make a donation to the Chantry?"_

_"My only wealth's between my legs, Mother, but you're welcome to that if you wish."_

They watched the Reverend Mother undulate away.

"You know, I think I figured out how they manage to pay for all that gilding in the Chantry." Millie took a swig of the beer and handed it back.

"_I_ think I figured out why Choir Boy doesn't ever want to leave the Chantry."

"Seriously, how _does_ she walk like that?"


End file.
